I thought I learned everything there was to know about the biological differences between men and women, but I guess I was wrong -- because they've managed to find some men with vaginas. and they are so filled with sand.

stirfrybry:I think the husband was some kind of homosexual or something. Tjat's why he farted. His anus was so stretched out from anal sex, he had no hope of keeping the gas from escaping his love chute

Perhaps he was slack-sphinctored from years of savage pegging by his domineering wife. Likewise his dimwitted expression is all that's left of what was once a promising young engineer, artist, and athlete. When they met in college he was a double major in electrical engineering and astro-physics. On the side he composed music which he performed at bars and restaurants around their town. And he painted. Mostly oils but some watercolors. The president of their university commissioned him to paint his portait, and one of his family and paid him well for it. He had sponsorships for his lab work from General Electric, NASA, Lockheed, and the European Space Agency. And then he fell in love.

It was fun at first. She enjoyed his music and art, together they shared the magic of starlit nights at the observatory. He was fascinated by her studies of comparative literature. Being an engineer and a visual artist, he never really took the time to learn the complexities of language and written expression, and through his relationship to her his mind was opened to a whole new spectrum of human experience. The beauty of the words, the stories, the poetry, and all the images painted not on his canvas, but in his mind, by her writing gave him a fresh perspective on his own life and humanity at large. It was this joy that he'd found in his life with her that prompted him to hold fast to this radiant creature of inspiration and passion.

After the wedding, a loud and expensive affair filled with a dozen bridesmaids and fountains of champagne, dancers parading around exotic fruit platters, and wandering violinists. It took several days in all. They took an apartment in Manhattan. She had him paint it. And paint it again. And once more. Then she asked him to paint her portrait. And her nude. And her abstract. Out in the park. On the beach. Again in the park. Now with her new haircut. Write her a song. Not that song, a different one. And why are you at work so much, are you seeing someone else? I miss you. When can we start a family? I thought you wanted children. You used to have so much ambition. The only way I can respect you is if you submit to me as a woman submits to a man. This is my strap-on. You will learn to love it. And even if you don't you will learn to respect it.

Morning, noon, nighttime, she tormented him with it. "Pleasure me!" she'd demand. Stand right there, hold the vibrator just so, now...DON'T MOVE! uuhhnnnnnn unnnnnnn AAAHHHH!!!!!! OK, now, it's Mama's Turn. Endless pounding. At first it was erotic and exciting, but after weeks and weeks of this treatment he became delirious from sleep deprivation. She'd force him to wear increasingly larger butt-plugs, not just at home but when he went to work. All so he'd be capable of receiving whatever indignity she chose to thrust into him. And he took it. He took it all because he loved her and wanted her to be happy. But a man can only give so much. His music stopped. The painting was gone except for her frequent re-decorating demands, but that was never creative, merely toil to please her.

His professional work came to an end on the morning of a critical presentation of an interplanetary navigation system which could revolutionize space travel and unite the major space agencies of the world in a new age of exploration. The night before he was to show the world his remarkable vision, she was in a foul mood of lust and rage and kept him trussed to the bed for 5 hours while she would pose and reposition him, penetrating him deeply with her strapped-on phalluses. Now the big one. Now the long one. Now the nubby one. Now from the top. Now from the bottom. She plugged him up and left him bound like a Christmas goose as she went to the kitchen for a snack, then fell asleep on the sofa. No sleep for him, though. And in this ragged condition, after months of this treatment, he failed miserably when his golden moment finally arrived. He was late, disheveled, unwashed, smelling of sexual lubricants and his own feces which he could barely contain, his bowels so cruelly distended and abused by his wife. The woman he once saw as his perfect companion. The yin to his yang. But that dream was gone.

Now he's a flatuent idiot, reduced to a servile imbecile for her amusement and nothing more. Sometimes when she's high she dreams of what he might have been, but those dreams usually crash down in an ugly spiral of bitterness as the images inevitably return to her forcing his crawling servitude, and she awakes to find herself kneeling behind him, plunging one more humiliation into his ruined backside, his manhood atrophied. His sanity and self-respect, mere memories.

well, she married the guy on the couch, not the one in her dream. he farts when he wants to and eats fried chicken in sweatpants on a couch while watching an awesome tv while she wears a business suit presumably on her way somewhere important just after walking out of the kitchen. who's the stupid one?

FTFA: Further, she argues, men, who are in power in our society, cannot legitimately cry sexism. "You can say [this ad is] prejudiced, in bad taste, insulting, not funny," she said. "But it can't be sexist. Just like a black person can't be racist. Sexism is a word with a very specific meaning, which is a certain group having more access than another group to the things that make life worth living, such as high wages and good housing."

I have this theory that men, like women, are all pretty much individuals with a variety of learned behaviors and experiences that make up their modes of behavior and that trying to assign given behaviors to gender is a bit daft. So, remember guys, when you're arguing with a woman and she says "Oh, you just hate women!", it's OK to say; "No, I just hate you."

Mitt Romneys Tax Return:BarkingUnicorn: I think Samsung miscalculated here. Women make about 80-85% of U. S. household purchase decisions, but smart TV appliances are likely in the other 15% when there's a man in the household.

I think they assumed guys would find it amusing (after all, who doesn't like a fart joke, amirite?). Although I'm surprised so many men have such a low threshold for offense. Seriously, dudes, grow a pair.

Yeah, and women should also learn to take a joke, especially about their tiny, simple brains.

Anayalator:FTFA: Further, she argues, men, who are in power in our society, cannot legitimately cry sexism. "You can say [this ad is] prejudiced, in bad taste, insulting, not funny," she said. "But it can't be sexist. Just like a black person can't be racist. Sexism is a word with a very specific meaning, which is a certain group having more access than another group to the things that make life worth living, such as high wages and good housing."

Um...

Yep. Thats the attitude that keeps men laughing at feminists.keep it up girls. Just for the laughs

The only thing that commercial is guilty of is is falling right smack into the middle of the uncanny valley

/holy crap did that make me uncomfortable. Creepy as hell.//It's cute that the empowered woman needs an electronics company to fix the useless man she settled down with because she though she was smart and capable enough to do it herself.

Speaker2Animals:I thought I learned everything there was to know about the biological differences between men and women, but I guess I was wrong -- because they've managed to find some men with vaginas. and they are so filled with sand.